


Alone

by Skittles001



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:58:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skittles001/pseuds/Skittles001
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-Mockingjay epilogue.<br/>Katniss wakes up from a nightmare, and Peeta comes to comfort her. Slowly, they learn that two halves can make a whole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone

My dreams segued away from the usual barrage of faces of the screamless dead. The one’s I unintentionally--and very intentionally-- murdered.   
But it didn’t make them any less terrifying.   
After watching a montage of Finnick, Madge, Boggs, Coin, Snow and a fireball that was formerly my little sister, I slowly slipped into a steady stream of darkness, and welcomed it willingly. My mind was shutting itself down, piece by piece, and I was helpless to do anything about it.   
I was vulnerable.   
I hated that.   
Then suddenly, my dreams changed, and I was in a room.   
Alone.   
All alone.   
There was a shaft of light bleeding through the shafts in the windows and doors that I couldn’t seem to open or break through. Just streams of golden lines thrown haphazardly around the room.   
“Hello?” I called, unsure what was going on in the complete and utter silence.   
But there shouldn’t have been such silence.   
When I was younger, Dad had told me that nobody can ever be in total silence, even if every other sound in the world stopped for a moment to take a breath, even if you were trapped in a soundproof box with only you and your thoughts, and your thoughts went on vacation.   
You would hear the beating of your heart.   
You would hear the hitch of your breath.   
I heard nothing.   
Gasping, I raced around the room, my fingers searching for the door handle, and feeling nothing against my long, thin fingers.   
Numb. Cold. Alone.   
Dead.   
I screamed out, trying to break the silence, but now no words would exit my mouth.   
I was empty.   
No beating heart.  
No hitching breath.   
Because I was dead.   
I was dead inside.   
Finally, after collapsing on the floor in a fit of silent tears, I heard the faint whisperings of a sound. I stumbled to my feet and listened intently.   
Finally I heard it.   
Alone.  
I looked down at my hands, and slowly but surely, as the force of the whispers gained in volume and ferocity, I began to disappear; like dust in the wind.   
And finally, I understand what this dream is about. Just before I ebb away like the tide against the shore.   
Only, I won’t return.   
Because they won’t.   
Abandoned.   
I’ve been abandoned. By everyone I have ever known and loved. They left me, and didn’t look back.  
My abandonment takes hold and I disappear into the nothingness and fall ever deeper into the depths of my despair.   
Katniss,  
I toss and turn and scream and shake, my bedclothes clinging to me from my profuse sweating.   
Alone.   
I’m all alone.  
“Katniss!”   
Except that I’m not.   
My eyes burst open in an explosion but I remain planted to the bed, my chest heaving back and forth like a pendulum.   
A hand grasps my shoulder and I see a flicker of light from my periphery.   
And despite it all, just the feeling of closeness, of not being entirely alone, calms me down. If only for a moment.   
Slowly, I pull myself up onto my elbows and am consumed by the stark blue colour of Peeta’s eyes, wide with concern.   
“Peeta,” the word is soft on my lips, barely more than a whisper, and I see the tension ease from his shoulders only slightly in the light of the candle he is holding in his left hand.   
“Are you okay?” He asks, then immediately backtracks. “Sorry, stupid question right? Of course you’re not.”  
He knows me so well.   
“What are you doing here?” I ask. My throat is dry and scratchy and I know what he’ll say right before he does, because it’s become my nightly routine.  
“I heard you screaming, and I had to see if you were okay.”  
I knew I screamed away my night terrors as they threatened to consume me. I did this every night for the last year and a half, but my throat was aching from the sheer intensity of my sound.   
But this is nothing new. Peeta knows that. And I know something too.  
That wasn’t what I asked.   
“No,” I shake my head, trying to break free from my daze and playing that game he invented-- and that my sanity depends on-- while travelling to the Capitol. Real or not real. I decide it’s real, though I was on the fence.   
“No,” I say again, looking him straight in the eye as he perches himself tentatively on the edge of my bed. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at your house?”  
He looks away, his eyes flitting back and forth to my face. Just like in school. Just like the Victor’s meeting; trying not to look at me, not daring to meet my eyes, but unable to stop himself from looking at me.   
The habit of a lifetime.   
And it makes my heart twist inside my chest.  
Peeta cleared his throat and looked in the opposite direction, before returning to me. Like he always does. Like he‘ll continue to do. And it‘s the reason my pulse stutters in my veins, He turns toward me again and now it‘s my turn to look away. “When I was here yesterday,” he said, tilting his head towards the stairs visible from the open doorway. “I noticed that you were running low on bread, and I know that Greasy Sae has been keeping you from starving to death, but I couldn’t sleep, so….”  
He leaves the still flickering candle on my bedside and pulls a bag from his back. He rummages around until he finds a small paper bag, pulls out a cheese bun and hands it to me.   
“I left the bread downstairs already. I just thought you’d like some of these. After all, they are your favourite.” He smiles shyly and rises from my bed. I grasp the sleeve of his shirt and plead with him silently to stay. He gets the message and dutifully, albeit hesitantly, lies on the covers next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, where I use it as a pillow and breath in the scent of cinnamon and hope, praying he doesn‘t notice.   
We don’t say a word.   
Because we don’t have to.   
We are two broken pieces, and maybe, together, we can make a whole.   
But for now, we just lie there, leaning on each other, until the flickering flame dies and is replaced by the dusty hue of early morning, followed by the burning orange brightness of sunrise.   
And as I drift away--the sound of Peeta’s breath soothing me into sleep-- one thought crosses my mind:

I may have been abandoned. But I’ll never be alone.


	2. Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They work on the book, and on themselves, in bits and pieces.

My eyelids fluttered open as sunlight scorched my retinas, snaking its way through the gap in my curtain. The pain builds behind my eyes and I turn away, ignoring it in the hope that it will disappear. I roll over and wrap the duvet up in my legs, using it as a barrier from the rest of the world; blocking out existence, reality, life.   
I heave myself off the bed and stare at my surroundings.   
Because I was met with no resistance.   
Because I was alone.   
Dazed, I grabbed the dressing gown that hangs on my doorknob and treaded softly down the stairs, listening for the hint that someone else was here.   
I heard nothing.   
Anger flared through me, as well as desperation and I hasten my steps and hurry to the kitchen.   
Nothing.   
There is no one.   
I walk to the kitchen cupboard and pull out a plate, shovelling food onto it. A few pieces of fruit and a grab a knife to slice the fresh made bread.   
Blackness clouds my vision and in a haze, I grab the plate and throw it at the door, where it shatters into a million pieces.   
I guess it’s like my heart. Broken beyond repair.   
The door creaks open and on instinct I throw a knife in its direction. The hilt of the knife cartwheels though the air and the steel tip buries itself in the wooden frame. Peeta looks from it, to me, then back again.   
“Well,” he says, “good morning to you too.”  
I frown and turn away from him. My mind is in conflict with itself. On the one hand, I’m furious that he could make a joke, that he didn’t tell me he was leaving, and with myself for such an overreaction.   
On the other hand: He’s here.   
“Where were you?” I asked. I sounded petulant, even to my own ears, but the gnawing feeling in the back of my neck wouldn’t subside. I knew then, that despite my hard demeanour and bluntness towards him, I couldn’t bear to lose Peeta.   
He’s all I have left.   
If he left, I would be entirely alone with my thoughts.   
And that’s never good.   
“I just dropped by my house, picked up some supplies.” In his hands he held a few jars of jam, butter, marmalades….things as sweet as he was.   
Peeta: The sweet to my mean.   
“You could have told me.” I couldn’t stop the anger. It billowed through me like smoke from the end of a forgotten cigarette; filling the air and choking off your air supply without knowing why.   
“I thought you’d be asleep,” he shrugged. “And you were so peaceful. It was nice to see you, just once, without the weight of the world on your shoulders.”  
“Maybe the world needs my shoulders to lie on?”  
“And maybe you need to ask for help sometimes, or it’ll all come crashing down around you.”  
Peeta crossed the kitchen, laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze, before retrieving the loaf of bread I had sliced to pieces and layering it with sweet substances.   
“Here,” he said. “You need this.”  
“Huh?”  
“I hear sugar helps with shock.”  
“Fine,” I agreed reluctantly, grabbing the slice he offered me and devouring it. I glanced up from beneath my eyelashes and saw Peeta staring at me.   
I also noticed his black eye.   
“What’s that?” I said, amid a mouthful of bread and butter churning around my tongue.   
“Sorry?” Peeta asked, slightly amused by my rudeness, and slightly shocked that he’d been amused.   
I swallowed. “You have a black eye?”  
Peeta gingerly touched the soft skin beside his temple and winced from the tenderness. He sat down on the chair opposite me and I moved to stand next to him.   
“Yeah, thanks for that,” Peeta half-smiled and I narrowed my eyes at him in confusion.   
“You toss and turn in your sleep. You settled down in my arms,” his face softened at the memory, “but you turned and…” he made a popping noise and grinned sheepishly.   
“Oh,” I said intelligently, causing his grin to widen and find its way to his eyes. My chest constricted slightly at the sight; it had been a while since I’d seen him smile.   
I missed his smile.   
But like me, Peeta was damaged. He helped me through so much. Stayed with me through everything, and took him for granted. Never again. I would help him through his heartache like he was helping me through mine. The journey would be long and winding, and the end may never come, but together, we could make it through. That much I knew for certain.   
On impulse, I stooped slightly and pressed a soft kiss against the bruised skin, letting my lips linger there for a moment and feeling Peeta freeze beneath my touch.  
“What are you doing?” he breathed, cocking an eyebrow as I pulled away and sat opposite him, grabbing another slice of bread and munching on it.   
“Kissing it better.” I shrugged. Peeta said nothing, but cast me a questioning glance now and again. We spent the day together. Sometimes we talked, other times we just lingered in a companionable silence, utterly content with one another’s company, before we decided to update the book.   
At the end of the day, Peeta made his way to leave and I stopped him at the door. His jacket rested on one shoulder, but he made no move to pull it on fully.   
“Do you want me to stay?” he asked.   
“Do you want to stay?” I countered. Peeta hung his head and shook it slightly.   
“Katniss, I’m giving you the option. You know that if you want me here, there’s no way I would leave. But say the word and I’m gone. All I want is for you to be happy.”  
Peeta: The Selfless to my Selfish.   
Peeta grabs the door handle and pulls it open, but I grab his hand and stop him.   
“I want you stay.”  
“Okay,” he said, closing the door behind him and acting as though nothing had happened.   
We worked on the book for a few more hours, and tonight my focus was solely on Prim. As the memories threatened to devour me, Peeta’s hand found mine, his fingers interlacing with my own without a moments hesitation.   
I couldn’t stop myself as tears rolled down my cheeks.   
“I miss her Peeta,” I said softly, and he moved himself closer to me so that we were merely millimetres apart.   
“I know,” he whispered.   
Before I knew what was happening, Peeta leaned down and kissed my temple, before turning my head towards his. My face was cradled in his palm and I was met by the calm reassurance of his eyes; my new anchor to this world.   
“What are you doing?” I breathed.   
Peeta leaned forward, and even more gently than before, brushed his lips against my cheek, sweeping away my tears.   
“Kissing it better.” he murmured, before releasing me from his grip.   
I was struck dumb for the remainder of the night, and when it came time to go to bed, I answered Peeta’s questioning glance with a nod and he followed me upstairs and we lay there, together, like before, comforting one another till the sun came up.   
Slowly, but surely, we were piecing our lives back together.  
Now we just needed to work on our hearts.


	3. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once, Peeta is the one whose broken.

The following three months were the same. Day in, day out, I would wake up in Peeta’s strong arms. We would go downstairs for breakfast, making idle chit-chat now and again, and sometimes just bathing in the comfortable silence.   
Day after day, always the same, and for a few brief moments, it made me happy. After a lifetime of living in fear and doubt, never knowing what the next day would bring, the routine and uniformity was comforting…and far from boring. In fact, it may have been the happiest time of my life.   
And that thought made me guilty as hell.   
I knew I would never get over what happened. If I could, I would be heartless, jaded and cold. The fact that I could feel just proved I was alive, even if it left me feeling like I was crumbling into pieces; trapped in a box in the far corner of my mind as my body went through the motions.   
But one thing always pulled me through. One thing always brought me back to myself, and to reality.   
Peeta.   
I’m not sure when the dynamic between us changed. Slowly, but surely, something shifted between us and amid the comfort we found in each other, I began to feel something else.   
Longing?   
Lust?  
Something else?  
Of course, I’m pretty sure Peeta was oblivious to my sudden internal conflict. About a month and a half ago, when we were in the kitchen making lunch, I glanced up at him, and stopped mid-sentence. That’s when it began to change, in that one brief moment.   
The sun had just streamed through the window and cast a halo of gold around his ash-blonde head, illuminating the left side of his face as he concentrated on chopping up pieces of fruit for a salad. For a moment, it was like my world just…stopped. I was caught, afraid to move, afraid to breathe in case I infected its beauty. Its perfection.   
In that moment, he was perfect.   
Although, then I realised that there is no such thing as perfection.   
But to be honest, Peeta came pretty damn close.   
He had glanced up and caught me staring, cocking an eyebrow at my idiotic expression.   
“You okay?” he asked.   
“Mmmhmm,” I said, not trusting myself to form words, and never mentioned the incident again.   
I remember what Finnick told me in District 13. About how he and Annie fell in love. And although it saddened me to remember him, it also made coping that much easier. By remembering the good moments, not the bad, I could cope. I remember the way his sea-green eyes shone as he recalled the girl from District 4 who had stolen his heart without meaning to. How it just snuck up on him.   
I suppose that’s what happened between Peeta and me. It wasn’t a whirlwind romance in reality. Just a succession of brief moments that found their way in softening my heart and breaking down my sturdy barriers.   
And Peeta didn’t even realise he was doing it.   
But today was different than any other. Peeta was distant, cold. Although we spent many happy days in silence-- not caring if either one of us muttered a word-- today was different.   
The tension in the room was palpable; you could cut it with a knife and serve it up on a silver platter. I felt uncomfortable, uneasy….something I haven’t felt in a long time. Not since Peeta came back to District 12.   
We were in the kitchen. I was sitting on a stool, leaning my elbows against the counter as I nursed a cup of coffee in my hands. I had recently become acquired to the taste and found myself salivating for a caffeine buzz almost every afternoon.  
Peeta was standing by the counter staring out the window as he sliced a loaf of bread that he had baked for us to eat. I watched him warily, noticing his shoulder muscles tense through his t-shirt, seeing the glazed look pass over his eyes and the odd tremble in his hands.   
Peeta gasped and cursed a string of profanity so well versed that I was simultaneously stunned and impressed. Peeta never curses if he can help it, and I never thought I would hear such filth exit his mouth.   
I jumped off the stool and raced to him. Peeta cradled his bleeding hand in his other and pulled it to his mouth to staunch the flow of blood.   
“Are you okay?” I asked.   
“I’m fine,” he growled. He obviously wasn’t fine. I rolled my eyes and pulled his bleeding hand into mine to check the damage. His soft fingers had grown calloused from working in the garden, tending to our Primrose bushes.   
I was under no illusions any more. Peeta stayed over at my house every night. Slowly, I had urged him to bring his clothes and possessions from his own home and place them in mine.   
We lived together. No doubt about it.   
I slowly turned Peeta’s hand around in mine and inspected the wound. The gash ran in a diagonal line from the knuckle of his index finger to the soft skin of his palm. Both of our hands were drowned in a sea of crimson, flowing freely between us.   
“God, Peeta,” I bit my lip and dragged him toward the sink, pulling his hand under the stream of ice-cold water. He winced at the freezing sensation but didn’t move from the spot.   
“You’re going to need stitches.” I told him, rinsing my own hands under the steady stream, drying them on a nearby dishcloth and rummaging in the cupboard for our first aid box.  
“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s just a scratch.”  
“Yeah, and Buttercup’s president.”   
“I don’t have time for this,” he moaned as I grabbed his hand and began to piece the skin back together with sterile thread.   
“Just shut up and sit there,” I growled. “I’m not very good at this, and you twitching isn’t making it any damn easier.”  
“Fine,” he said. Ten minutes, and seventeen profanities later, Peeta’s hand was mended.   
The same couldn’t be said for him.   
As soon as I had finished patching him up, he leaped up and headed for the door, grabbing the jacket hanging on the hook.   
“Where do you think you’re going?”  
“Out,” he answered, pulling the door so hard I was sure it would break from its hinges.  
“Peeta, you’re injured. Just stay here for a while.”  
“I have to go,” he said firmly. He stood with his back to me at the door.  
“Where?” I asked. I was worried about him. He was angry, unhinged. Something was wrong and I wanted to fix it. But how could I fix him when I couldn’t even fix myself?  
“I have to help Greasy Sae in the market, go to Haymitch’s and check he hasn’t choked on his own vomit, go to town to help with the rebuild, get some supplies so we don’t stare…”  
“Peeta, relax.”  
“I can’t relax.” he said, his shoulder’s slumped and I heard a faint sniffle coming from him. He was crying.   
And my heart shattered at the sound.   
I grabbed Peeta’s good hand in mine. He glanced down at it sideways. I turned him around and stared him straight in the eye. Tears collected in his long eyelashes, threatening to stream down his face. His hand trembled in mine and his lip began to quiver.   
“This is how you cope, isn’t it?” I said softly, gently stroking a stray tear that had fallen down his cheek with my finger and cupping his cheek with my hand. “You have to take control. You take care of everybody else. Let me take care of you.”  
Peeta shook his head adamantly and tore his hand from mine, racing out the door and through the gate. I followed him a few steps, before calling “Peeta!”  
Peeta’s footsteps slowed but he did not stop moving.  
I ran to him and matched his step automatically.   
“What day is it?”  
“Wednesday.” he said gruffly.   
“No what day is it?”   
“Wednesday, July 18th.”  
“Peeta,” I said softly, “what day is today?”  
Peeta sighed and another tear rolled down his cheek, this time he made no move to hide it as he stared at me.   
“July 18th. Hunter’s birthday. Today, he would have been 19 years old.”  
And with that, Peeta raced off, and I was left stranded in the middle of the street, unable to do anything but wait for him to come home.

 

=========================================================================

 

Later that night as I lay in bed, watching the moon soar higher into the sky as the night wore on, I heard a noise from the kitchen. The door slamming shut.   
He was home.   
I stayed where I was. Laying on top of my sheets, rooted to the mattress as Peeta stumbled noisily up the stairs.   
The door creaked open and Peeta treaded into the room softly, or at least he attempted to. He never was very stealth.   
I pulled myself up into a sitting position and he froze, wide eyed and ashamed. Like a child caught with their hand in the cookie-jar.  
“Sorry,” he mumbled.   
“’s okay.” I mumbled back. I could smell the liquor from his clothes and his breath as he tugged at his jacket and threw it haphazardly over a chair, before sitting on edge of the mattress and kicking of his boots with two soft thuds.   
“Where were you?” I asked softly, although I knew I had no right to intrude. Peeta grunted and laid down in the bed next to me.   
“Around.”  
“Haymitch’s?”  
“Yeah,” he replied.   
After a further ten minutes of silence, I couldn’t bear it any more, I had to ask him. “You went to the bakery, didn’t you?”  
In the faint moonlight that lit the room, I saw Peeta softly nod and saw his shoulder’s begin to quake. I grabbed his hand in mine and squeezed it reassuringly.   
It was like opening the flood gates as Peeta finally broke down.   
“It’s all my fault,” his voice was choked with tears and I scrambled into a sitting position and held him in my arms, stroking his hair and soothing him like a mother to a child.  
“No, It’s not.”  
“I shouldn’t have left you in the arena. I should have stayed with you until the very end. Then the Capitol wouldn’t have captured me and bombed our district to get to you.”  
“No, Peeta…it’s my fault.”  
Peeta stopped sobbing to look at me. I expected to see hate or anger in his eyes, but I didn’t. I saw understanding, sadness…  
Love?  
“At first, I wanted to blame you,” he answered honestly, “but I couldn’t. They wanted to get back at all of us. I know that that’s real. But my family…they’re dead….and I…I h-have no one…”  
Peeta collapsed into another wave of tears and fell onto the bed, his shoulders shaking.   
“It’s me. My fault.”  
“It’s no one’s fault but the Capitol. And they’re gone now. They’ll never hurt us again.”  
“They couldn’t hurt me any more than they already have.” Peeta choked out through tears.  
Peeta laid his head against my stomach and I softly combed my fingers through his hair as I cradled his head in my arms.   
“You’re wrong.” I said softly.  
“About what?” he said.  
“You’re not alone. You have someone. You have me. And I’m not going anywhere.”  
“Promise?” he breathed.   
“Promise.”  
Peeta shook in my arms and I let him cry long into the night, let him soothe his aching heart. That’s what he needed. He also needed a shoulder to lie on, and I could offer that too.   
Peeta sidled closer to me on the bed, his head never leaving my stomach and my hands never leaving his hair.   
“Stay with me.” he whispered.   
“Always.”


	4. Learning

“Peeta, wake up!” I grab him by the shoulders and shake him gently, growing rougher as time passed and my impatience grew. Peeta grunted in his sleep and tried to swat me away like some irritating buzzing fly. I tired of him sleeping so, quick as a cat, I grab the glass of water that I place on the bedside table each night and pour it all over his face.   
That woke him up.   
“What the…” Peeta jolts up in bed, startled, tiny beads of water gathering in his eyelashes like tears and his hair glued to his face like a spider’s web.   
Albeit, a quite adorable one.   
“Welcome to the land of the living.” I say, leaping off the bed before he grabs me.   
“Katniss? Do I smell?” He asks earnestly.   
“Like the forest after a rainstorm.” I smirk and Peeta chuckles, rubbing the remaining dregs of water from his eyes.   
“So I assume that’s not the reason you decided to give me an early morning shower?”  
“And you would be correct.” I say, grabbing a pile of his clothes from the floor, which acts as our communal wardrobe and thrust them at him. “Now get dressed and get ready. We’ve got some work to do.”  
“It’s my day off.” Peeta groans, but begins to pull off his damp t-shirt and replace it with a fresh one. I turn my face away. I’m not sure why. I’ve seen Peeta all but naked before, but this time was different.   
This time, I might not have minded seeing him all but naked.   
At all.   
I scold myself and can feel the self-projected anger bubbling though my veins. Hearing the zip of his pants, I allow myself to turn back and find Peeta shooting me a questioning look.   
“I should be the one who looks fit to kill someone,” Peeta’s infuriating inquisitive eyebrow shot up a few more millimetres. “Why is steam coming out of your ears?”  
“Because,” I seethe, trying to simultaneously control my anger and convince him that I’m just my pragmatic self. “You’re holding me up, and I wasn’t really planning on waiting for the grass to grow before I left the house. Now, are you coming, or do I have to drag you by your…”  
“All right,” he sighed, “All right. Let’s go to this mystery place that I haven’t been informed or given any prior knowledge of…I’m sure nothing bad can come of this.”  
“Don’t try to pull off sarcasm, Peeta,” I say, waggling my eyebrows. “Leave it up to the experts.”  
“So Haymitch?” he teases, and I hit him in the arm, earning a sincere and not at all faked “ouch.”  
Finally we left the house, and not a moment too soon. The sun was just about to rise.

 

“Katniss,” Peeta finally regains some of his breath after our five mile uphill hike. “What are we doing here?”  
I throw my jacket down on the ground and breathe in the fresh dewy morning air. I spin around and place my hands on my hips. “Isn’t it obvious?”  
“Not really. And I never thought subtlety was your strong suit.” I shake my head at Peeta, who is just drinking in his surroundings. Not that I could blame him really. I still remember when I was seven, and my dad brought me here at sunrise, as the light slowly bled through the canopy of branches; the little shafts of light bleeding over the ground like a sprinkling of diamonds. From blue, to pink, to white and orange--the maelstrom of colour reflected back on the lakes glittering, glass-like surface. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. And Peeta would probably commit it to memory, like I had. I liked that I had imparted some knowledge on him.   
Now I was going to impart a little more.   
With a practiced move, I shucked off my boot and sent it flying towards Peeta, who caught it with fumbling fingers and a shocked expression on his face. I smirked and pulled the other off more gently, leaving it lying on the soft grass.   
“I’m going to teach you how to swim, Peeta.”

 

“Katniss, I’m not sure about this.” Peeta said, standing at the lakes edge, his eyes darting back and forth for any viable escape route.   
Another reason I chose this part of the forest: I’m the only one who knows the way out.   
“Come on,” I groan as the lake water laps against my skin; my vest sticking to my chest. I subconsciously tug at it, but realise that will only make matters worse. I cross my arms across my chest and give Peeta my patented “just do what I say and don’t cross me” look. I’d pretty much perfected it.   
Peeta’s shoulders slump and he nods his assent before shucking off the remainder of his clothes. Peeta’s prosthetic leg got caught in the hem of his well worn pants, and he flung them away haphazardly. He stood there, shivering, in only his blue-and-white checked boxers, crossing his arms over his chest in a stance that mimicked mine.   
I couldn’t help myself. I actually giggled.   
“What?” He sighed, his shoulders sinking even lower than I thought possible. I think it was the expression on his face, or maybe I’m a sucker for those puppy dog eyes, but I begin to make my way to the lakes edge and stroll out of the water, grabbing his hand. Peeta watches with wide eyes, before quickly averting his gaze.   
“Come on,” I say, interlacing his fingers with mine and marvelling at how natural and right it feels. I shake the thought from my mind as we tentatively make our way waist deep into the lakes lapping water.  
“Is your leg going to be okay?” The thought only just struck me as we waded through the water that Peeta’s leg was made of metal; and water plus metal equals big trouble.   
Peeta smiles, and my worries melt just that little bit more; like each and every time he does.   
“It’s made of titanium. Rust Proof. The Capitol foretold rainy days….”  
His expression grew dark, and I knew where his mind had gone.   
Or they knew about the Quarter Quell arena…and what they would do to us.  
I squeezed his hand reassuringly and we continued to stroll through the mud and pondweed before I was confident about the depth.   
“Now, I want you to lie back and just try and relax.”  
“Easy for you to say. You can swim.”  
“Just do it!” I snap, and Peeta, surprisingly smirked.   
“What?!” I cry.   
“Nice to have the feisty Katniss back. You were way too nice to me today.”  
“Yeah,” I smirk, “well, don’t get used to it.”  
Peeta tried to lie back three times, and each attempt ended up with him convulsing and chocking on water on the lakes surface.   
“Let me try something,” I say in my most soothing voice, and as I use it little daggers stab at my heart. I used this voice with only one other person. Prim. And she would never hear it again.  
Because she was asleep now.   
Asleep in a world that her final sleep has woken.  
“Katniss?”  
“Yeah,” I shake myself out of my reverie. “Sorry. Just lean back.”  
“I can’t.”  
“Do you trust me?” I ask, and Peeta meets my gaze, and no words need to pass. We can feel it; like a frisson through our veins. Automatically he leans back, and I place my hands steadily against the small of his back, supporting his weight.   
“So,” Peeta says, his hands breaking through the surface tension of the water and splashing flecks in my face. “Why did you suddenly decide to teach me how to swim?”  
“I had a dream.” I say simply.  
“You dream about me half-naked often?” he smirks, and I drop my hands from his back and expect him to falter, but he doesn’t. He remains steady and sure and unaware that he is floating all on his own. I smirk.   
“No” I say. “But I had a dream last night…a nightmare really. Where you were in the middle of an ocean…drowning and I could see you…and I tried to get to you….but you…you kept going under and I-I tried to call to you, but there was only silence, and whe-when I tried to jump in and save you, I was met by a wall. And then….” I swallowed my words as my words grew quieter and quieter.   
“And then I was gone.” Peeta finished for me, pulling himself straight in the water and standing once again on his two feet.   
“Yeah,” I murmur.   
We stay there, just utterly silent, neither knowing what to say. Peeta grabs for my hand, but I dodge him and float to his other side, pulling myself out of my funk.   
“So I decided to get pragmatic. The only way I can guarantee that you don’t drown while I watch….”  
“Is if you teach me how to swim,” Peeta smirks. “Clever.”  
“Then if you drown, it’s your own fault.” I grin mischievously at Peeta, who feigns hurt, and we continue through the day, practicing different strokes and paddles and, once were both confident enough , I dunk him under water and wage an all out water war with him.   
Sometimes it’s just the little things that make the most mundane days some of the best.

 

Later that night, I crawl into bed, exhausted, and am soon met by Peeta’s warm back resting against my own. I sigh silently in contentment and snuggle closer, willing to warm myself in his warm, strong arms. Peeta drapes an arm over me subconsciously and I smile at the gesture and am lulled into sleep. That night I had no nightmares.   
But I was woken by something else.  
“Peeta?”  
“Hmm?”  
“Would you mind moving your arm? It’s digging into my back.”  
Peeta’s form freezes behind me, and he pulls himself away from me and leaps out of the bed.   
“I better go.” He says hurriedly, already at the bedroom door.   
“Peeta?” I roll onto my back and pull my knees to my chest. “Where are you going?”  
“I have to go, Katniss.” He says again, the door creaking open as he swings it.   
“Why?!” I say again, totally confused.   
Peeta stalls at the door, and hangs his head, the light from the moon illuminating his profile. I swear I can see his face grow red.   
“That wasn’t my arm.” he says simply before racing down the hall. I hear the other bedroom door close and I just lean back against the pillow.   
“Oh.”


	5. Fever

Two weeks after “the incident”, the weather grew fierce. Thunder crashed outside the window. Lightning streaked through the sky like a whip-crack; breaking up the monotonous night with a beautiful chaos.   
But that wasn’t what woke me.   
My eyes flew open as the pressure in my chest built into a crushing, crippling force. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see in the darkness. The lightning flashed again, and I saw Peeta kneeling over me, hands clasped around my throat. Crushing me. Constricting me.   
Killing me.   
I fought. I fought hard; my limbs crashing on the bed with as much force as I could muster with his form leaning against me. His eyes were feverish, but they were dull. He was sleeping.   
I pulled at his arms, trying to loosen his grip on my neck, while trying to stop myself from loosing consciousness. Finally, I pulled my knees up to my chest and thrust him with as much power as could be humanly possibly. His grip faltered, and that was all I needed. I took my elbow and sent it crashing into his temple, knocking him over. I flipped myself over him, straddling his struggling form with my knees and pinning his arms by his sides.   
I tried to call his name; to wake him up from his dreamlike state, but nothing but rasping came from my mouth. I coughed over and over, finally able to suck in a single breath. My heart began to beat at a normal level again, and Peeta’s body began to still beneath me.   
“Peeta!” I called again, trying to wake him. I turned my head to the right and coughed again, before calling to him once more.   
Lightning crashed outside the window.   
And Peeta woke up.   
“Katniss?” Peeta said, perturbed. He looked into my eyes, confused, maybe even a little excited, before his gaze slowly fell to my neck, admiring his handy-work.   
“Oh god,” he said, hurt filling every crevice of his face. He had hurt me. Badly. That was the last thing he wanted to do.   
“Peeta,” I said again, “are you okay? Will you do it again?”  
“I-I-I don’t know. I-” His eyes began to roll back into his head.   
“Peeta!” I cried, releasing his wrist and placing my palm tentatively against his forehead. He was burning up.   
“Crap!” I scrambled off the bed and ran to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and ripping it into tiny pieces; releasing my own frustration in the process. I ran it under the cold tap and raced back to the room.   
Peeta moaned and groaned; succumbing to the fever.   
“Peeta,” I said, worry colouring my words. I wasn’t angry. I was scared. But I wasn’t scared for myself, I was scared for him.   
The storm was too bad to call for help. And who knew if they would arrive in time? What was wrong with him? Then one horrible thought after another crept their way through my subconscious, threatening to destroy me.   
What if he doesn’t get better?  
What if I try my best, and lose him anyway?  
What if I lose him forever?  
That last one stopped me in my tracks, making me numb inside. The thought that I could lose Peeta now, when I had no one else, disarmed me. It was selfish, but I’m a selfish person. I didn’t want to lose him.   
And not just because he was all I had left.   
It was something more.   
Slowly, I dabbed his forehead and face, caressing his skin with the cloth and cooling the inferno.   
“Katniss,” his words were bleeding into one another. “I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t be.” I said.   
“I could have hurt you,” he said frantically. “I could have killed you.”  
“But you didn’t.”  
“But I could have.” he pushed himself up onto his elbows and I pushed him down, issuing him with a warning glare.   
“But you didn’t. Now lie down. You‘re not making this any damn easier.”  
“The lightning,” he murmured, his voice growing weaker; as meek as a mouse. “The lightning. Crashing. Booming. The videos. And you…”  
“Shh,” I said, brushing his sweat-soaked hair from his forehead.   
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again.   
“I know” I said again, dabbing at his cheeks.  
I stayed with him through the night, cooling his fever as he cried out in pain. It was all those long days. Peeta had almost single handedly organised the rebuilding of the bakery, making it a monument to his family. Day in, Day out, he worked. Hail, rain or snow, he would not relent. He came home two days before drenched to the skin and sniffling.   
Now he was getting the repercussions.   
Around four a.m., I pushed myself off the bed and headed to the bedroom door.   
“Where are you going?” Peeta called sleepily, frightened.   
“To the bathroom,” I said, “I need to get something.”  
“Please,” he said. I could hear the tears through his words. “Don’t leave me.”  
“I’ll be back in a minute.”  
“Please,” he whimpered.   
“You can time me if you’d like?”  
I left him, and felt my heart shatter as he sobbed into his pillow from the pain and heat of his fever.   
I raced to the bathroom, grabbed the bottle and came back into the bedroom.   
“You’re back,” the relief was evident in his voice.   
“I told you I would be.”  
“I know, but…”  
“Peeta, where would I be without you?”  
“With Hawthorne,” he mumbled.   
I put it down to the fever. I sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his hair back again.   
“No, Peeta, without you I’d probably be dead.”  
He remained silent, his eyelids drooping as sleep threatened to take him. I poured a capful of sleep syrup into his mouth and waited for it to take effect.   
“I’m sorry for everything, Katniss. I never wanted to hurt you. Now, it seems like that’s all I ever do.”  
“Stop it, Peeta” I said fiercely, grabbing his face between my hands and watching as he grew sleepier. “You haven’t hurt me. These are only superficial wounds. Scars that will heal. Bruises that will fade. What you could do to me would be so much worse. It would be irreparable.”  
“What’s that?” he murmured, his words barely more than a whisper.   
“You could leave me. You could leave me and never come back, and I would be all alone again. And I couldn’t bear to lose you Peeta.”  
“Why/?” His eyelids shut, and after a moment, his chest began to rhythmically rise.   
“Because I love you.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The next morning, as I nursed my morning cup of coffee, brewed to a tar-like consistency, I heard Peeta stumble down the stairs.   
“Morning’” he said sleepily. He looked less pale and feverish than he had last night. He must have broken through the fever.   
“Morning’” I said, my voice still slightly hoarse from the night before.   
Peeta walked over to me, grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl, and dropped it in shock.   
“Oh, God,” his voice was filled with hurt. “Did I do that?”  
“Yeah,” I said,  
“Are you okay?”   
“Yeah,” I mumbled again, sipping my coffee. He reached out to touch my face, but I flinched away from his touch. Peeta’s face contorted form sadness and I immediately apologised.  
“No, you’re right to be scared of me.”  
“I’m not scared of you,” I assured him. “I’m not scared of anything. I don’t have that necessity.”  
That wasn’t strictly true. I was very scared about something.   
“But…” he started, and I immediately interjected.  
“It was the fever Peeta, coupled with lightning. You’re broken; I’m broken. It’s why we work well together.”  
He said nothing. He just finished his apple, sauntered toward the door and grabbed his coat.  
“And where do you think you’re going?”  
“To work?”  
“Oh no you don’t! You’re sick. Get your ass up to bed right this second or that fever will be the least of your problems.”  
He relented, put his coat back on the rack and walked toward the stairs. He paused at the bottom step.  
“Last night, I tried to strangle you in your sleep. Real or not real?”  
“Real. As you can see. But it’s okay. I understand.”  
“I thought I dreamed that when I woke up.” he said quietly.   
“Well….you know. You didn’t.”  
“I remember something else.” he said equally as quietly, and I could feel the tension grow in the room. Threaten to suffocate us. This is what I was afraid of, but I feigned innocence.   
“Oh yeah? What?”  
Peeta turned around and met my eyes, searching my face for an answer. I kept my expression neutral.  
“Last night, you gave me sleep syrup.”  
“Real.” I said.   
“You told me something.”  
“Umm….”  
“Katniss,” Peeta said, and I could feel the question before he asked it.   
“Last night, you told me you loved me. Real or not real?”  
What could I say? I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if I admitted it and I lost him, I couldn’t. I had no other choice. He was too good for me. He deserved someone who truly deserved to be with him.   
I knew what I had to do.   
And it made me die a little inside.   
“Not real.”

 

.


	6. Growth

Hollow. Empty. Lifeless.   
If you could have described the days following my blatant lie, that would be a pretty good summation.   
I lied on a Sunday.   
Felt bad on a Monday.   
Felt worse on a Tuesday.  
And on Wednesday, I decided to do something about it.   
It’s been three weeks since I confessed my feelings for Peeta, and was able to pass it off as a bad dream. I know I made the right decision.   
But that doesn’t mean I feel good about it.   
I walk into the kitchen and my eyes immediately flit toward the calendar. My heart skips a beat and I couldn’t suppress the grin that seemed to be attempting to split my face into two separate equators.   
November 28th.  
Excellent.   
I sneak upstairs and make sure Peeta is still asleep. He twitches and flips on the mattress before gathering up the duvet between his fists and pulling them over his head.   
Yeah, he was definitely asleep.   
I move down the stairs like I would in the forest; quiet and deadly, no noise to be heard. For the last week, I had kept Peeta under house arrest, refusing to let him go to work and forcing him to stay in bed.   
“Everyone needs a break, Peeta.” I told him, poking him in the shoulder and forcing him back up the stairs. I had learned to keep things airy and neutral between us. Of course, neither of us were in a sunshine and rainbows mood, since the Games had made each of us dark and twisted inside.   
Well, Peeta was still like my personal sunshine--illuminating my life even in the darkest of times.   
He just didn’t know it.  
And if I had my way, he never would.   
But after everything he had done for me, after all this time, I decided to repay the favour.  
After all, I hate being in debt.   
So Peeta had spent the last two weeks holed up in my house in the Victors village, crawling up the walls. After four days of solid begging to be set free, he finally gave up and succumbed to my will. Last Saturday, I had thrown him a few sketch pads, some pencils and told him to amuse himself while I went hunting.   
And he had.   
And I had.   
But that’s not all I was doing.   
I grabbed one of the sketch pads he had left behind him and flicked through. There were a few pictures of trees, of the view from the front window and Buttercup.  
There were many pictures of his family.   
And a surprising number of me.   
I shook my head, clearing away the confusion and finally found a Mellark family portrait that he had drawn from memory. I could see his Dad’s kind eyes, his brothers’ cocky grins, and his mother standing beside them, smiling.   
That was my only complaint about it. His mother looked too….nice.   
Although, if it had been me, I would have given her horns and trident, but she was his family.   
Was.   
I scolded myself for my heartlessness and grabbed a book from the counter, carefully slipping the page into one of the folds. I left the front door unlocked behind me.   
It was a message to Peeta.   
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”  
I couldn’t wait to see his expression.   
My heart skipped a little, which I blamed on the fact that I was racing down the hill on a frosty morning, and ran slap bang into Haymitch’s front door. I rapped gently on the mahogany, growing louder as time went on and my patience waned. I heard a grunt from inside.  
He’s alive at least, I poked around in the flowerbed and found the spare key, just where I had last left it. Haymitch didn’t actually know I had a spare key to his house. But what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.   
Or me, for that matter.   
“Haymitch?” I called, pushing the door open gently and venturing carefully into the house. I rounded the corner into the kitchen, and flinched as a knife went soaring past my face and embedded itself in a kitchen cabinet.   
“You’re getting rusty,” I noted casually, pulling it free from the door and twirling it between my fingers before setting it down on the counter.   
“No, you just have lousy timing.” he slurred, barely lifting his head from the kitchen table. Glass bottles decorated his kitchen, lying haphazardly every which way. Haymitch raised his head again and I saw he was still clutching a bottle in his right hand. Seemingly he had fallen asleep with it clutched in his grasp, and decided to soak it up with his face rather than his mouth.   
“It’s November 28th.” I told him, throwing the book on the table and smirked with satisfaction as he flinched at the bang.   
That woke him up.   
“You’re done?”   
“Yeah,” I said, trying and failing to keep the grin from my voice. “Do you have it?”  
“Yeah,” he grunted, “Sae dropped it off two days ago.”  
I didn’t even try to hide it this time. I visibly grinned.   
“You know, I have to say, I didn’t think you’d pull it off.”   
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”  
“Well, you’re welcome.”   
I roll my eyes. “C’mon. We better go. I have some finishing touches before the grand unveiling.”  
Haymitch grumbled, but eventually he made it into the fresh air and only cursed me five times; a new record.   
As we walked into town, Haymitch stopped me.   
“You know, I think you’re narrowing the gap.”  
“What?”  
“It might not take a thousand lifetimes any more. I think you’ll be okay with the one.”  
I couldn’t help it, I smiled.

 

At three o’clock, everything was ready. I just put the finishing touches on the wall-- a frame for Peeta’s picture-- when the bell rang. I wheeled around, expecting to see Peeta.   
But it wasn’t Peeta.   
It was Rae Hammersmith, the Blacksmith’s daughter.   
I tried to hide it, but my face visibly fell.   
“Hey Rae,” I said, turning back to the colour swatches I had spread across the counter.   
“Hi Katniss,” she seemed shocked, but she hid her disappointment well. Rae was always smiling and had a kind word for everyone.   
Well, everyone but me. She tended to ignore me.   
To be honest, it was two-way street.   
“Peeta not back yet?” she asked, and my shoulders tensed.  
“No,” I said slowly, “not yet.”   
“Oh,” her smile fell and she tucked a strand of her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. I would have felt sorry for her, if I wasn’t consumed by a slow burning feeling of anger.   
Why? Oh, I know why.   
Because how Peeta had felt about me for all these years….  
That’s how Rae felt about Peeta.   
And that’s what made my stomach feel like it was covered in lead-- heavy, twisted, molten lead.   
Haymitch came out of the back, binoculars in hand.   
“He’s on his way. Shouldn’t be more than five, ten minutes.”  
“So Peeta’s coming?” Rae smiled. My head started to throb and my shoulders tensed even further--so much that I was sure I had contorted myself into the foetal position. I clenched my fists and counted silently to ten.   
Nine.   
I had no right to be this angry.  
Eight.   
Peeta was free to like whomever he chose.   
Seven.   
And why wouldn’t she like him?  
Six.  
He’s sweet.   
Five.   
He’s genuine.   
Four.  
He’s charming.   
Three.   
He’s handsome….  
Two.  
Very Handsome.   
One.   
And he’s not mine.   
And he never will be.  
“Yeah, Peeta’s coming.” I said simply, trying to disguise the hurt in my voice.   
Rae was a nice girl. A really nice girl. In a way, she’d be the perfect girl for Peeta. She could take care of him. Treat him like he was meant to be treated. Love him like he deserved to be loved.   
There was just one thing that stopped me.   
She wasn’t me.   
But maybe that’s what Peeta needed.   
My anti-thesis.   
Rae was completely not me.   
She could be his sunshine, like he was mine….  
My eyes began to burn, when I heard the bell ring. I wheeled myself around and saw Peeta enter, mouth agape and expression full of wonder.   
“What is this?” he breathed.   
“We finished the bakery.” I said simply.   
“Katniss did,” Haymitch corrected. “She’s been working non-stop for the last two weeks to get it finished.”  
“You have?” Peeta looked confused, but happy. Extremely happy. But I couldn’t look at him, not directly. It would be like staring at the sun…and I would burn up and die.   
He saw the picture then and I stared down at the floor.   
“This is….” he breathed. “Perfect.”  
Rae stepped forward and captured Peeta in a hug. He stumbled but returned the hug, a little confused but not entirely unhappy.  
That was when it disappeared. That one lingering hope in the back of my mind.   
That maybe we could be together.   
That maybe he could love me.   
That I could show him I loved him…  
Gone.  
I couldn’t move on, but I could let him.   
That would be the secret part of his present.   
What else would he want today? He was finally a man, and I had to let him grow up.  
“Happy birthday Peeta.”

 

 

 

 

 

It took two months--two agonisingly long months--for Peeta to ask Rae on a date.   
And even though everyday I expected him to come home and tell me, building up my guards so it would hurt less--and hoped it wouldn’t hurt at all…  
It hurt.   
Peeta came through the door that evening, whistling and shaking some of the spring rain from his hair. I shook my head and threw him a towel. He caught it on the fly, and rough dried his sandy blonde head while I chuckled to myself.   
“You look like a dog when you do that.”   
Peeta inclined his head and shot me a cheeky grin, before darting across the kitchen, grabbing me by the waist and shaking his head roughly, drenching me with left over raindrops.  
I elbowed him in the ribs and broke free from his grip, scowling.   
“I already took a shower, Peeta,” droplets dripped into my eyes, but it didn’t mar my withering glare, which only caused the grin on Peeta’s face to expand.   
“I thought you could do with a refresher. Might cool that hot-head of yours.”  
I narrowed my eyes, and refrained from commenting on his pun. I grabbed a glass from the sink for myself and threw Peeta an apple from the fruit bowl, for which he thanked me with a smile.   
“So what did you get up to today?” I asked, filling up my glass from the tap and leaning against the counter, going through our daily routine.   
“Oh, you know, the usual,” he bit into his apple, but he hid his half smile behind his bite and I couldn’t help but be intrigued, if not a little bit worried. I hated myself for being so…weak? Insecure?   
I don’t know what…but I didn’t like it, whatever it was. It made me vulnerable. Never a good thing when you’re a hunter. You show no fear when you’re a hunter, because nothing can hurt you. You are top of the food chain…untouchable.   
No I felt like prey rather than predator.   
And all because I had fallen in love with the Boy with the bread.   
Slowly, but surely, I had.   
Just turns out, he hadn’t done the same.   
And could I blame him? After everything I put him through…?  
Enough, I scolded myself, thinking about it only makes it that much harder. Just another memory I’ll have to repress.   
“What’s with the smile?” I asked, taking a sip of my water.   
“Oh nothing…it’s nothing.” Was he worried?  
“Peeta, c’mon…what is it?”   
Peeta shook his head, and gave me a shaky half-laugh. “Okay, but promise not to freak out?”  
“I think I’ll be okay,” I teased, taking another sip of water.  
“I’m going to dinner with Rae Hammersmith.”  
And I choked.   
“Katniss?” He raced across the kitchen and caught me as I spluttered and choked on his confession, but to his eyes, water.   
Finally, I was able to formulate a sentence. “Peeta…are you going on a date?!”   
“Yeah,” He said, rubbing circles in my back to help ease my breathing. Little did he know it was far from helpful. “I guess you could call it that.”  
Gripping the counter with my fist, knuckles turning paler than the rice-like paper I had bought Peeta for his sketches. Cocking my head over my shoulder, I saw Peeta’s worried expression, which only grew more sombre and confused as the silence between us wore on.   
“Is that…is that okay?”   
The moment of truth. Fight or flight. Confess all, take a chance and reap the rewards, or suffer the repercussions…  
Or do what I always do: deny, deny deny.   
Lather, rinse, repeat.   
“What?” I feigned innocence, plastering on my most convincing smile. “Peeta, of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”  
“It’s just…” he faltered. “You know, never mind. Are you okay?”  
“Yeah, just a shock. Plus, I swallowed too much at once.” I automatically tipped the remainder of my drink down the sink to hide the evidence. That, in fact, it hadn’t been too much at all.   
“Oh, okay.”  
“So,” I smiled, “when’s the big day?”  
“Tomorrow night. I’m taking her for dinner at eight.”  
“Well, that’s good. It gives you both time to get ready after your shifts.”  
“That’s what I thought.” Peeta half-smiled.   
Usually when someone turned eighteen in District 12, they were sent to work in the mines. The thought of Peeta traipsing though those treacherous, dangerous walls sent chills down my spine. However, since Peeta had helped to run his family’s bakery they had drafted him in to run the shop. I had helped out for a few weeks, but between that and hunting, I had hardly any energy to move. So Peeta had recruited Rae to help out in the bakery. Day in, day out they spent together, slowly getting to know each other.   
To be honest, I’m surprised it took him this long to make a move.   
But another part of me-- the cold, jealous part of me--hoped he never would.   
“So tell me.”   
“Tell you what?”  
“Tell me how it went down. Did your eyes meet across a tray of cheese buns, and you just knew you had to have her?”  
“Stop it Katniss,” Peeta blushed.   
“Unless,” I dreaded the thought, “you’ve already had her…?”  
“Stop it!” He said more forcibly. I issued him an apologetic smile, but ushered him to elaborate.   
“It’s not like that….”  
“Then what is it like?”  
“We were just talking, going over stocks-- you know, the usual-- when she quirked an eyebrow and said ‘So Peeta, are you going to ask me out, like, ever?”  
I had to hand it to her: the girl had spunk.  
I laughed. “She said that?”  
“Yeah,” he ducked his head from embarrassment, which only made him more endearing.   
God, why did he have to be so damn cute? It would make the whole getting over him thing so much easier!  
“So, what did you say?”  
“Um…”  
“You can tell me, you know…”  
“I know,” he chuckled, embarrassed. “I just did.”  
“Um?”  
“Um.” he nodded and I shook my head from second-hand embarrassment.   
“Oh, Peeta. Peeta, Peeta, Peeta.”  
“Say my name one more time…”   
I smacked him on the arm. He responded with an appropriate “ouch.”  
“You idiot.”  
“What?”   
“What happened after you said ‘um’?”  
“Her face sort of fell, and she said ‘you know what, never mind’, which seems a lot worse now in retrospect.”  
“You think?” Placing my index fingers to my temple, I slowly circled the skin to ease the tension.   
“So, I caught up with her and asked her to dinner.”  
“Well then….that’s…” What was it? Awful? Devastating? Heartbreaking?   
Yeah, for me it was.   
But for Rae? For Peeta?  
“That’s good.”  
“Thanks.” He turned towards the stairs.  
“You know, I’m really happy for you.” I said, but I couldn’t keep the scathing tone from my voice. Peeta turned around, shocked.   
“What?”   
“Yeah,” I said, trying to hide my disgust, and succeeding a little better this time. “Rae’s liked you for years. It’s about time you made a move, instead of…”  
“Instead of fawning over you?” he spat and I visibly flinched.   
No, not instead of that. I said nothing, but Peeta glared at me.  
“Well, thanks for the support, Katniss. Good to know how you really feel.”  
He has no idea.   
“You have no idea how I feel.” I said, but it was too late. He had already stormed up the stairs.

 

At half seven the next evening, I watched Peeta fumble with his tie in the living room mirror while an angry silence hung between us like a hangman’s noose.   
“Ugh!” he cried in frustration, pulling at the knot he had attempted to form, freeing the tie from his neck and throwing it on the chair in frustration.   
I couldn’t help it, I laughed.   
“What?” he glowered.   
“You’re hopeless.” I shook my head and pushed myself up from the chair. The tension visibly shifted from Peeta’s shoulder.   
That was it. Crisis averted. Angry silence floating into the distance like a little red balloon.   
Going.   
Going.   
Gone.   
I grabbed the tie from the chair and looped it around his neck, measuring the distance between the sides and beginning the intricate tangling, forming the knot with nimble fingers.   
“So,” I said, looping the top side over the bottom for the second time, “You excited about tonight?”  
“Yeah…I guess.” Peeta pursed his lips, eyes drifting away.   
“You don’t sound so sure.” I said, and his eyes snapped back. But he didn’t seem angry. Actually, he sounded like he was trying to reassure himself.   
“No, I am. I am.”  
“Okay then.” I dropped the subject and put the finishing touches on his tie.   
“There,” I smiled, and Peeta checked it in the mirror.   
“Wow, that’s impressive,” he smirked. “How did you get so good at that?”  
“Well, my Dad…” the memory hurt, “my Dad showed me once when I was younger. I watched him twist and turn that Windsor knot in his hands, and one day I begged him to show me. I thought it might come in handy some time. He just laughed, and sat me on his lap, like I was his little girl and not nine years old, and made me practice over and over. Every time I got frustrated and angry, he just laughed and made me do it again, until I had it down to an art. Now I can practically do it in my sleep. He knew exactly how to teach me…”  
“Katniss,” Peeta’s worried voice pulled me from my memories and I offered him a half-smile.   
“I guess I was right. It did come in handy. You look good Peeta.”  
And he did. In his blue and white striped shirt and carefully pressed jeans, he looked every inch the perfect gentleman, without being unapproachable.   
“You look good,” I said again, fixing his tie and running my hands over his shirt. I realised what I was doing and turned away.   
“Thanks.” Peeta said, eyes searching my face for a reaction. I gave him nothing, like I always had.   
“You better get going,” I said, turning around and pulling the book from the mantelpiece. “You don’t want to be late for your date.”  
“Are you working on the book tonight?” he asked.   
“Yeah, I think I should,” I half-smiled, letting memories wash over me. “Just seeing you getting dressed up made me think of Cinna, and then thinking about my Dad…I just feel like remembering them, you know?”  
Peeta fixed me with a look. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”  
“Yeah,” I sniffed, tears gathering in the back of my throat. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Have a good time.”  
“Katniss…”  
“Just go, Peeta!”   
I was shaking in my seat, knees pulled against my chest and pleaded with my eyes for him to leave, to let me have a moment to grieve alone…to not let him see me at my weakest.   
He understood that.   
He nodded, turned away.  
And with that he left.   
And when the front door softly closed behind him, I finally let myself cry.

 

It was late, when I heard the door open again. Sleep had started to overcome me, from staying up to listen for Peeta’s return and being wracked with grief over lost friends and family; I was drained.  
Slowly, Peeta plodded up the stairs, his heavy footfalls ringing through my ears. As our bedroom door creaked as it opened, a shaft of light crawled across the room, slicing it in two.   
“You’re back?” I said sleepily, stretching out on the mattress, my eyes growing heavier as sleep threatened to consume me.  
“Yeah,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off his shoes.   
“How was your date?”  
“It was okay.” he replied, standing up and slowly unbuttoning his shirt. I flipped around to allow him some privacy.   
“Only okay?”  
“It was fine…I guess.”  
“You guess?”  
“I really don’t want to get into it, Katniss.”  
“Okay, that’s fine,” I yawned. “It’s just…she’s a nice girl.”  
“Yeah, she is,” he murmured in agreement.   
“So why didn’t it work out?”  
“Goodnight, Katniss.”  
And that ended that. I slowly let sleep take over me body and slipped into a stream of unconsciousness.   
And I must have been dreaming, because I remember the sweetest dream. It was so precious, so powerful, and so perfect, that it couldn’t have been real, even if I hoped that it was.   
Even though I could feel his words against my ear.  
His hot breath against my skin.   
His lips against my temple.   
As he said:  
“You want to know why it didn’t work out.? The real reason why?  
Because she’s not you.”


	7. Change

It took two months--two agonisingly long months--for Peeta to ask Rae on a date.   
And even though everyday I expected him to come home and tell me, building up my guards so it would hurt less--and hoped it wouldn’t hurt at all…  
It hurt.   
Peeta came through the door that evening, whistling and shaking some of the spring rain from his hair. I shook my head and threw him a towel. He caught it on the fly, and rough dried his sandy blonde head while I chuckled to myself.   
“You look like a dog when you do that.”   
Peeta inclined his head and shot me a cheeky grin, before darting across the kitchen, grabbing me by the waist and shaking his head roughly, drenching me with left over raindrops.  
I elbowed him in the ribs and broke free from his grip, scowling.   
“I already took a shower, Peeta,” droplets dripped into my eyes, but it didn’t mar my withering glare, which only caused the grin on Peeta’s face to expand.   
“I thought you could do with a refresher. Might cool that hot-head of yours.”  
I narrowed my eyes, and refrained from commenting on his pun. I grabbed a glass from the sink for myself and threw Peeta an apple from the fruit bowl, for which he thanked me with a smile.   
“So what did you get up to today?” I asked, filling up my glass from the tap and leaning against the counter, going through our daily routine.   
“Oh, you know, the usual,” he bit into his apple, but he hid his half smile behind his bite and I couldn’t help but be intrigued, if not a little bit worried. I hated myself for being so…weak? Insecure?   
I don’t know what…but I didn’t like it, whatever it was. It made me vulnerable. Never a good thing when you’re a hunter. You show no fear when you’re a hunter, because nothing can hurt you. You are top of the food chain…untouchable.   
No I felt like prey rather than predator.   
And all because I had fallen in love with the Boy with the bread.   
Slowly, but surely, I had.   
Just turns out, he hadn’t done the same.   
And could I blame him? After everything I put him through…?  
Enough, I scolded myself, thinking about it only makes it that much harder. Just another memory I’ll have to repress.   
“What’s with the smile?” I asked, taking a sip of my water.   
“Oh nothing…it’s nothing.” Was he worried?  
“Peeta, c’mon…what is it?”   
Peeta shook his head, and gave me a shaky half-laugh. “Okay, but promise not to freak out?”  
“I think I’ll be okay,” I teased, taking another sip of water.  
“I’m going to dinner with Rae Hammersmith.”  
And I choked.   
“Katniss?” He raced across the kitchen and caught me as I spluttered and choked on his confession, but to his eyes, water.   
Finally, I was able to formulate a sentence. “Peeta…are you going on a date?!”   
“Yeah,” He said, rubbing circles in my back to help ease my breathing. Little did he know it was far from helpful. “I guess you could call it that.”  
Gripping the counter with my fist, knuckles turning paler than the rice-like paper I had bought Peeta for his sketches. Cocking my head over my shoulder, I saw Peeta’s worried expression, which only grew more sombre and confused as the silence between us wore on.   
“Is that…is that okay?”   
The moment of truth. Fight or flight. Confess all, take a chance and reap the rewards, or suffer the repercussions…  
Or do what I always do: deny, deny deny.   
Lather, rinse, repeat.   
“What?” I feigned innocence, plastering on my most convincing smile. “Peeta, of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”  
“It’s just…” he faltered. “You know, never mind. Are you okay?”  
“Yeah, just a shock. Plus, I swallowed too much at once.” I automatically tipped the remainder of my drink down the sink to hide the evidence. That, in fact, it hadn’t been too much at all.   
“Oh, okay.”  
“So,” I smiled, “when’s the big day?”  
“Tomorrow night. I’m taking her for dinner at eight.”  
“Well, that’s good. It gives you both time to get ready after your shifts.”  
“That’s what I thought.” Peeta half-smiled.   
Usually when someone turned eighteen in District 12, they were sent to work in the mines. The thought of Peeta traipsing though those treacherous, dangerous walls sent chills down my spine. However, since Peeta had helped to run his family’s bakery they had drafted him in to run the shop. I had helped out for a few weeks, but between that and hunting, I had hardly any energy to move. So Peeta had recruited Rae to help out in the bakery. Day in, day out they spent together, slowly getting to know each other.   
To be honest, I’m surprised it took him this long to make a move.   
But another part of me-- the cold, jealous part of me--hoped he never would.   
“So tell me.”   
“Tell you what?”  
“Tell me how it went down. Did your eyes meet across a tray of cheese buns, and you just knew you had to have her?”  
“Stop it Katniss,” Peeta blushed.   
“Unless,” I dreaded the thought, “you’ve already had her…?”  
“Stop it!” He said more forcibly. I issued him an apologetic smile, but ushered him to elaborate.   
“It’s not like that….”  
“Then what is it like?”  
“We were just talking, going over stocks-- you know, the usual-- when she quirked an eyebrow and said ‘So Peeta, are you going to ask me out, like, ever?”  
I had to hand it to her: the girl had spunk.  
I laughed. “She said that?”  
“Yeah,” he ducked his head from embarrassment, which only made him more endearing.   
God, why did he have to be so damn cute? It would make the whole getting over him thing so much easier!  
“So, what did you say?”  
“Um…”  
“You can tell me, you know…”  
“I know,” he chuckled, embarrassed. “I just did.”  
“Um?”  
“Um.” he nodded and I shook my head from second-hand embarrassment.   
“Oh, Peeta. Peeta, Peeta, Peeta.”  
“Say my name one more time…”   
I smacked him on the arm. He responded with an appropriate “ouch.”  
“You idiot.”  
“What?”   
“What happened after you said ‘um’?”  
“Her face sort of fell, and she said ‘you know what, never mind’, which seems a lot worse now in retrospect.”  
“You think?” Placing my index fingers to my temple, I slowly circled the skin to ease the tension.   
“So, I caught up with her and asked her to dinner.”  
“Well then….that’s…” What was it? Awful? Devastating? Heartbreaking?   
Yeah, for me it was.   
But for Rae? For Peeta?  
“That’s good.”  
“Thanks.” He turned towards the stairs.  
“You know, I’m really happy for you.” I said, but I couldn’t keep the scathing tone from my voice. Peeta turned around, shocked.   
“What?”   
“Yeah,” I said, trying to hide my disgust, and succeeding a little better this time. “Rae’s liked you for years. It’s about time you made a move, instead of…”  
“Instead of fawning over you?” he spat and I visibly flinched.   
No, not instead of that. I said nothing, but Peeta glared at me.  
“Well, thanks for the support, Katniss. Good to know how you really feel.”  
He has no idea.   
“You have no idea how I feel.” I said, but it was too late. He had already stormed up the stairs.

 

At half seven the next evening, I watched Peeta fumble with his tie in the living room mirror while an angry silence hung between us like a hangman’s noose.   
“Ugh!” he cried in frustration, pulling at the knot he had attempted to form, freeing the tie from his neck and throwing it on the chair in frustration.   
I couldn’t help it, I laughed.   
“What?” he glowered.   
“You’re hopeless.” I shook my head and pushed myself up from the chair. The tension visibly shifted from Peeta’s shoulder.   
That was it. Crisis averted. Angry silence floating into the distance like a little red balloon.   
Going.   
Going.   
Gone.   
I grabbed the tie from the chair and looped it around his neck, measuring the distance between the sides and beginning the intricate tangling, forming the knot with nimble fingers.   
“So,” I said, looping the top side over the bottom for the second time, “You excited about tonight?”  
“Yeah…I guess.” Peeta pursed his lips, eyes drifting away.   
“You don’t sound so sure.” I said, and his eyes snapped back. But he didn’t seem angry. Actually, he sounded like he was trying to reassure himself.   
“No, I am. I am.”  
“Okay then.” I dropped the subject and put the finishing touches on his tie.   
“There,” I smiled, and Peeta checked it in the mirror.   
“Wow, that’s impressive,” he smirked. “How did you get so good at that?”  
“Well, my Dad…” the memory hurt, “my Dad showed me once when I was younger. I watched him twist and turn that Windsor knot in his hands, and one day I begged him to show me. I thought it might come in handy some time. He just laughed, and sat me on his lap, like I was his little girl and not nine years old, and made me practice over and over. Every time I got frustrated and angry, he just laughed and made me do it again, until I had it down to an art. Now I can practically do it in my sleep. He knew exactly how to teach me…”  
“Katniss,” Peeta’s worried voice pulled me from my memories and I offered him a half-smile.   
“I guess I was right. It did come in handy. You look good Peeta.”  
And he did. In his blue and white striped shirt and carefully pressed jeans, he looked every inch the perfect gentleman, without being unapproachable.   
“You look good,” I said again, fixing his tie and running my hands over his shirt. I realised what I was doing and turned away.   
“Thanks.” Peeta said, eyes searching my face for a reaction. I gave him nothing, like I always had.   
“You better get going,” I said, turning around and pulling the book from the mantelpiece. “You don’t want to be late for your date.”  
“Are you working on the book tonight?” he asked.   
“Yeah, I think I should,” I half-smiled, letting memories wash over me. “Just seeing you getting dressed up made me think of Cinna, and then thinking about my Dad…I just feel like remembering them, you know?”  
Peeta fixed me with a look. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”  
“Yeah,” I sniffed, tears gathering in the back of my throat. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Have a good time.”  
“Katniss…”  
“Just go, Peeta!”   
I was shaking in my seat, knees pulled against my chest and pleaded with my eyes for him to leave, to let me have a moment to grieve alone…to not let him see me at my weakest.   
He understood that.   
He nodded, turned away.  
And with that he left.   
And when the front door softly closed behind him, I finally let myself cry.

 

It was late, when I heard the door open again. Sleep had started to overcome me, from staying up to listen for Peeta’s return and being wracked with grief over lost friends and family; I was drained.  
Slowly, Peeta plodded up the stairs, his heavy footfalls ringing through my ears. As our bedroom door creaked as it opened, a shaft of light crawled across the room, slicing it in two.   
“You’re back?” I said sleepily, stretching out on the mattress, my eyes growing heavier as sleep threatened to consume me.  
“Yeah,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off his shoes.   
“How was your date?”  
“It was okay.” he replied, standing up and slowly unbuttoning his shirt. I flipped around to allow him some privacy.   
“Only okay?”  
“It was fine…I guess.”  
“You guess?”  
“I really don’t want to get into it, Katniss.”  
“Okay, that’s fine,” I yawned. “It’s just…she’s a nice girl.”  
“Yeah, she is,” he murmured in agreement.   
“So why didn’t it work out?”  
“Goodnight, Katniss.”  
And that ended that. I slowly let sleep take over me body and slipped into a stream of unconsciousness.   
And I must have been dreaming, because I remember the sweetest dream. It was so precious, so powerful, and so perfect, that it couldn’t have been real, even if I hoped that it was.   
Even though I could feel his words against my ear.  
His hot breath against my skin.   
His lips against my temple.   
As he said:  
“You want to know why it didn’t work out.? The real reason why?  
Because she’s not you.”


	8. Real

It’s been almost a year. Almost a year since I came back to District 12. I couldn’t count the time from when I first arrived, because for the first few months, I was a zombie, a shade of my former self.   
Nothing.   
Nothing, until one day. One day, eight months, three weeks, fours days and seven hours ago.   
The day Peeta came back.   
And my life felt a little less lonely.   
That I wasn’t totally cut off from everyone I loved.   
That someone had cared enough to come back, and that he wanted someone to care for him too.   
I had friend.   
But that all changed.

 

It started simply enough. Sae came over and concocted a very suspect stew, which turned out to be quite tasty if you didn’t question its contents. Peeta trawled through the foyer, his muddy boots staining the tiles in the hall. He kicked them off and shuddered at the sudden change in temperature.   
He shook his head, shucking his damp jacket from his shoulders. “Hell of a night.” he murmured, plodding over to the chair opposite me and inhaling the mystery stew, before shrugging and digging in.   
That’s the thing about Peeta. He’s fearless…in his own way.   
“Not bad,” he mumbled between bites and I nodded my assent, scraping the bottom of the bowl, stomach churning for more.   
“Sorry, kids, we’re all out.” Sae smirked, visibly pleased that someone, at least, had enjoyed her cooking. “I better get going. I left Katrina with her father, and if I don’t get there soon, he’ll burn the house down.”  
“I doubt that,” I sighed.   
“Oh, no, he’s done it before.” Sae hung her head. “Who knew making tea could be hazardous for your health?…and your drapes. See you soon.” Sae raced to the door, grumbling about Peeta messing up her newly polished floor. The door flew open, and before she left, she called “Don’t forget to watch the broadcast tonight at eight.”  
“What broadcast?” I called, but she was gone like dust in the wind, braving the sheets of rain hailing from the heavens.   
“I guess there’s a broadcast tonight?” Peeta smiled.  
“You know, I did hear a rumour about that somewhere.” the corners of his mouth twitched from laughter. Peeta grabbed both our bowls, placed them in the sink and began to clean them.  
“You don’t have to do that.” I said, standing up to help.   
“No, it’s okay. I want to.”  
“Are you sure you’re feeling better? Because I think you may be delirious.”  
Peeta stuck out his tongue. “Hardy har-har. But seriously, it’s fine. Just go relax.”  
“That’s all I ever do,” I groaned. Before Peeta could protest, I grabbed a towel from the rack and began to hand dry our bowls, putting them away. He shrugged his shoulders but made no comment.   
That lovely, perfect silence. The one I could stay in forever. Finally, I felt it seeping back into our lives after a noticeable absence.   
And of course, I had to be the one to ruin it, with an innocent remark of all things.   
“You’re always taking care of me.” I mused, thrusting the two bowls into the cupboard and wincing as they clattered together. Something was definitely broken. But I could always take care of it again.   
Procrastination has some perks. Like avoiding responsibility. After a lifetime of living with it, I think I deserve a break.   
“Yeah, well I like taking care of you,” he said, growing defensive. “Is that a problem?”  
“No, it’s just…weird. It’s usually me who’s taking care of everyone. My mother, the Hawthornes, Prim…” As time passed, it grew easier to talk about her. It still hurt. Of course that would never change, but I figured she would want to be remembered, not be placed in some untidy corner of my over-worked mind, gathering cobwebs and dust.  
“Right, you take care of everyone you care about. I get it.” He said, drying his hands and storming off to the living room and grabbing a sketch pad, fiercely plotting his emotions on a page.   
That was weird. I cocked an eyebrow, wondering what the hell had just happened, but decided against thinking about it. Peeta had dealt with enough of my meltdowns; I could allow him to have a few of his own. I get it. He needed to blow off steam. But the weird thing was, he was okay, he was just fine until I mentioned the Hawthornes. That’s when I saw the fire ignite behind his eyes, his shoulders grow tense and his expression grow dark.   
I would have to investigate eventually.   
But for now, I just grabbed one of my hunting knives and began to polish it, waiting until the eight o’clock bell tolled.

 

In one way, I wish I had ignored that eight o’ clock broadcast.   
When the screen flickered to life, Peeta and I both watched apprehensively. My pulse stuttered in my veins and my breathing grew shallow. Peeta sat beside me, equally as tense, but automatically made a move to hold my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. What he hadn’t counted on was that I wouldn’t let it go. When he tried to pull away, I held on tighter and pleaded with my eyes, beckoning him closer. Without hesitation, he pulled me closer to his on the couch and draped an arm around my shoulders, hugging me to his chest until my panicked feeling dissipated.   
The last time there had been an emergency broadcast, Peeta and I had both been sent to our deaths. Again.   
But the Games were over.   
Unless, they were actually putting together the Capitol Games. In a way, I hoped it was. That we would receive some sort of retribution for all the years of hardship we had to endure, watching family members die for the amusement of others.   
But in another way, I was hollow at the thought of sending even more people to the death instead of stopping the violence, like Peeta had wanted.   
Did that make me as bad as the Capitol?  
I shuddered at the thought, and Peeta’s arms curled around me.   
“It’s not your fault.” he whispered, kissing the crown of my head, and setting my synapses on fire.   
Seriously, what was he doing to me? I had never felt like this in my life, and doubted I ever would again.   
But Peeta got it.   
Of course he got it.   
Because he gets me.   
And I get him.   
Well, most of the time.   
Now, for instance, as District 2’s valleys and mountains hit the screen and Peeta froze and backed away from me…that I didn’t get at all.  
Peeta sat back against the sofa, jaw tensed, and I crouched forward, enthralled by the screen.   
No way. This could not be happening.   
Plutarch Heavensbee’s face lit up the screen, and I recoiled from shock. Plutarch had had some work done. His eyebrows were inching further up his forehead than was natural and his skin seemed oddly polished.   
Apparently being on television had given him cause for work. I shook my head in exasperation.   
“Hello there, Residents of Panem, and welcome to the first, and hopefully not the last, episode of Planet Panem, where we travel from District to district, seeing the improvements and the daily lives of our residents following the war. Today, we are honoured to be speaking with the Head of the newly reformed Peacekeepers of District 2...Say hello to Gale Hawthorne.”  
No.   
No freaking way.  
“What?” Peeta’s voice was dead as he watched my shocked expression. “You’re not excited?”   
“Shh,” I said, as Gale filled up the screen, sitting opposite Plutarch, snowy mountain tops acting as a picturesque background.   
I had to admit it, Gale looked good. He had cut his hair, so now it was just a tousled mess on his head, that was more than likely styled to look like it had just fell that way naturally.   
The Camera crew were right: He was camera ready.   
But he also looked older, manlier. He held a sense of importance in his air, a certain superiority….  
He wasn’t the Gale I used to know.   
He may look the same, if not a little neater and healthier, but he wasn’t the same person. Not by a long shot.   
I was surprised, actually, that throughout the interview, as I watched enraptured, I didn’t once grieve his loss.   
Actually, I was kind of glad he hadn’t come back.   
I would never know whether or not he responsible for what happened to Prim; and I didn’t want to know.   
He didn’t make me feel safe; watching him crack jokes and tell Plutarch about the changes and advances the Peacekeepers had gone through under his guidance. I didn’t feel reassured. I didn’t feel a sense of longing for what could have been.   
I was just watching an old friend, and that was all.   
“So, Gale,” Plutarch smiled, and I was amazed that his face actually did move infinitesimally. “How’s life been?”  
“It’s been good,” he grinned. “Great actually.”  
“Oh, would you care to elaborate?”  
“Sure,” he said, and Gale’s grin could have lit up the entire district, before gesturing to someone behind the camera. Gale rolled his eyes, got off his seat and ran behind the camera, dragging someone into view. She had her patented scowl across her face.   
Johanna Mason.   
And they were still holding hands.  
“Johanna here is my second in command,” Gale smiled, catching her eye while she let out an execrated sigh.   
“Ooooh,” Plutarch squealed, clapping his hands together energetically. “Is that all she is?”  
“Actually…” Gale smiled, and Johanna just shook her head, grabbed him and kissed him right there on camera.   
My jaw almost hit the floor.   
“Now, that was unexpected.” I said, leaning back against the sofa, soaking in everything I had just watched. It was different.   
And I was pleasantly surprised to note that I wasn’t jealous.   
I was just amused.   
Peeta on the other hand, was far from amused.   
“Well, I’m happy for him…for both of them.”  
“Stop lying,” Peeta growled, pushing himself off the couch forcefully. I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to find the cause for his hostility, which seemed to appear out of thin air.   
Or, as realisation hit me, the airwaves.   
“I’m not lying.” I sounded offended, rather than defensive, and anger bubbled up through my veins.   
“Then you’re lying to yourself. I saw the way you were watching him. Let’s face it; if I weren’t here, and he was, we both know what you’d be…”  
“Peeta!” I jumped off the sofa and stared at him hard. He glared back, but his expression faltered for a second.   
“I’m sorry.” he said quietly.   
“You should be. How can you accuse me of something like that?”  
“Well, you’ve kissed him before haven’t you?”  
“Yeah, but that was when I thought I was in love with him. I’m not anymore, I’m…”  
I nearly said it. I nearly blurted it out, but I swallowed the words as quickly as I had blurted them; like swallowing bile that rises up your throat.  
“You’re what?” He asked.   
“I’m not in love with him. I don’t know if I ever was. Yes, a part of me will always love him…” Peeta’s mouth set into a thin line. “But it’s not love love. What is wrong with you tonight?”  
“Nothing.” he snapped.  
“Now who’s lying?!” I snapped right back. We were caught in an impasse. Neither of us said a word, daring the other to break it. It wasn’t the same kind of silence as earlier.   
This one was putrid. Violent. Horrible.  
Neither of us broke the silence; the phone did. I picked it up on the third ring.   
“Hello?” I said, trying to disguise my suppressed anger.   
“Katniss?” Rae’s voice sliced through my skull. “Oh, I thought this was Peeta’s number. Sorry.”  
“No, it is. He’s right here.” The tension headache that had become like my conjoined twin lately grew in it’s intensity,; so much so that I felt physically sick.   
Why was she calling him?   
“It’s for you.” I said, throwing him the phone, which he caught by his finger tips.   
“Hello? Rae? Oh, Hi…” Peeta sounded nervous. He began to drum his fingers against the counter top and bit his lip--his nervous habits.   
I watched him, amused, as he stumbled through the phone call.   
“Tomorrow? I can’t tomorrow…No, that day doesn’t work for me either…No, Rae, You did nothing wrong…” Peeta’s sigh was long and exasperated. “We can talk about this more tomorrow at work, I don’t think this s the kind of conversation….WHAT?!” His eyebrows shot halfway up his skull. I was even more intrigued, and leaned against the counter drinking in every word, trying to piece together the conversation. But it wasn’t going that well.   
“No, that’s not…..” he was embarrassed, and his eyes flitted toward me.   
Were they talking about me?  
Peeta sighed again, but this time in acceptance. “No, you’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry that I…No, I’m really sorry…Thanks Rae, but that’s far too kind…what? I--I don’t know how…Yeah, yeah, I might just do that. Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. And Rae….Thank you.”  
Peeta hung up the phone and threw it back to me, more gently than I had. I placed it on the wall and tried to meet Peeta’s eyes. For once, he wasn’t meeting my gaze, rather than the other way around.   
“What was that about?”  
“Oh, Nothing.”  
“Okay, Peeta,” I rubbed circles into my temples, hoping to rewind time and stop all this tension before it had taken over the evening. And the only way to get rid of tension-- get to the root of the cause.   
The truth shall set you free.   
Or suffer under the consequences.   
But I’m sick of skirting around, and now I wanted the truth, whatever the cost.   
It was time.   
“Let’s just get to the truth, okay?”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“Fine, I want to know what that phone call was about. And I want the truth, particularly if it has something to do with me…and I think it does.”  
“Fine,” Peeta threw up his hands and fell back into an armchair. “Rae called to ask me out, and I shot her down.”  
“Why did she do that? I thought you said it didn’t work out.”  
“It didn’t.”  
“Well, she must have thought differently.”  
“I kind of gave her mixed signals,” he said through gritted teeth.   
Dread enveloped me. “What sort of mixed signals.”  
“I kissed her.”  
Time stood still. Red clouded my vision, and I decided right then and there that I would kill Rae Hammersmith.   
“You what?” I said, throwing all pretence out the window. I was pretty damn angry, and I wanted him to know it. For him to finally know…  
“I kissed her,” he said again.   
“Why?”  
“Why do you think, Katniss!”   
“Was it…like it was with me?” I asked. There it was. Vulnerability.   
“Yeah, well, she’s a good kisser, too.”   
It was like a slap round the face and a punch in the gut simultaneously. Then I realised, as his sneer turned into a sombre grimace, that he had said it to hurt me. Not that he had kissed her. I knew that was real. He had thrown my words back at me, the ones I had uttered over a year ago in District 13, and he was waiting for a reaction.   
And I was going to give him one.  
“Well, that’s good Peeta,” I sneered, “I didn’t think you needed the practice, but whatever.”  
“Why are you so upset?” He asked.  
“I’m not upset.”  
“I thought we said that lies went out the window?”  
“Fine, I’m upset, okay?! Are you happy now?”  
“Why would I be happy? Why would I be happy when you’re not?” It was the way he said it, the absolute sincerity in his voice as he uttered that words, that caused any remaining guards I had left to quickly dissolve.   
“You’re always trying to protect me, care for me…” I said, and he nodded.   
“Why? I’m not good enough for you. Not right for you,” Tears gathered in my eyes, stinging like tracker-jackers until I let them fall freely. “You shouldn’t take care of me, Peeta, when all I do is let you down.”  
“It’s the habit of a lifetime, and you’ve never, not once, let me down.”  
“Lies.”  
“Okay, I’ve been disappointed, but not in you. I’ve been disappointed in myself--for never being enough for you, and when Hawthorne popped up and I saw you fawning over him, I snapped.”  
“I wasn’t fawning over him.”  
“It seemed that way tonight, especially after…”  
“After what?”   
“After my dream,” Peeta’s voice was as quiet as a whisper through a dark dreary night, but I picked up every syllable, every sound.   
“What happened?”  
“Let’s just say, I have nightmares too.”  
There it was. He had a dream about Gale and I…but why hadn’t he said anything?  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“Because it wasn’t important?”  
“You’re important to me, Peeta,” I was actually shouting, getting angrier, but I wasn’t sure why. I just couldn’t help myself. “God, can’t you see that? Can’t you see how I changed when you came back? How much of myself I had lost without you? Can’t you see the way I smile when you smile, how my heart melts when I hear you laugh, how my entire face lights up when you’re around?! Because everyone else can. I guess that’s the funny thing about love, isn’t it?”  
“What?” Peeta’s eyes went wide and he stared at me.   
God, I really wished I was able to rewind time.   
Rewind. Stop. Erase.   
But no such luck.   
“What did you just say?”  
“Nothing.”  
“Katniss…”  
“Nothing!” I screamed. “Just get out Peeta, get out of my house!”  
“Your house?”  
“Yes, my house! What are you even doing here?”  
“You asked me to stay,” he said emphatically.   
“And you could have left at any time. So why didn’t you? Why did you do this to me? Why are you doing this to me?!”   
“Doing what?” he asked again, but I just grabbed the nearest thing to hand-- a picture of a primrose-- and threw it at him, watching as it sailed past his head and shattered into a million pieces as it crashed into the wall. He stumbled and his expression grew furious, his blue eyes blazing.   
“Fine,” He said, “I’ll leave!”  
With that, he stormed towards the back door, wrenching it open and slamming it shut behind him.   
Peeta was gone. I watched him walk through the rain towards his house.   
His other house.   
And I gave up, right then and there.   
I fell against the door frame while my body was wracked with sobs and grief.   
What was I doing? I let him go, again. Why did I keep letting him slip out of my fingers. He had always chased me. Wasn’t it about time I chased him?  
I pushed myself away from the wall, vision blurred by tears and pulled open the door.  
But the doorway wasn’t free.   
“Hi,” Peeta said, hair falling in his eyes, drenched with rain.   
“Hi.” I said back.   
Without a seconds hesitation, Peeta had stepped forward and captured me in his arms, pressing his lips firmly against mine.   
It was like I had finally come up for air after almost drowning. My breath. My life.   
My Peeta.   
His lips were fast and hungry against mine, desperately pleading in an intensity that only matched my own. I moaned as his lips found my neck and we stumbled back, smacking into the one of the kitchen’s four walls. Peeta’s lips were on mine again, but this time he was grinning.   
I looked into his beautiful blue eyes and relished the feeling of safety, comfort, hope and love that I had been deprived of for all of my life-- which I had never allowed myself to believe in, to grow to need or want. I was my own person.   
But now, I could allow myself to enjoy those other things in life.   
Like Peeta’s lips for example.   
Peeta stared into my eyes, and I saw his love reflected there, mirroring my own and sending shivers up and down my spine like a bolt of electricity. Like lightning though my veins. Gently, he tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and the trail of his touch seared my skin.   
Without warning, he scooped his up and threw me over his shoulder. I beat against his shoulders, laughing as he stomped up the stairs. Peeta kicked a door open and gently placed me on a bed.   
My bed.   
Our bed.  
We laid there in each others arms, kissing each other gently, then hungrily, then passionately, and repeating the cycle. Once again, Peeta brought his hand tom my face, cupping my cheek in his palm and I turned my head and kissed his soft skin.   
So when he asked me “You love me. Real or not real?”  
I tell him “Real”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was to fill in for that gap that was only noted in the last page before the epilogue of Mockingjay. I just wanted to flesh it out a bit for myself, and found I couldn't stop writing until I got to this point. I hope you like it.


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